


Faking It...Maybe.

by GothFeatures



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Acting, Actual Plot!, Aftermath of Violence, Domestic Fluff, Homophobia, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Graphic Wounds, Own Characters - Freeform, Plot!, Romance, Slash, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothFeatures/pseuds/GothFeatures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a case calls the duo to Brighton thanks to the disappearances of homosexual victims, they must pose as a couple to lure out the kidnapper. However pretending to be in love when actually secretly in love gets tricky and maybe a little bit too comfortable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Case

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as an RP based on one of my prompts with the lovely searchingforpeter.tumblr.com ^_^

_John, would you be able to get a week off work? – SH_

**A week? Sarah wouldn’t be too happy, with it being flu season, but I’m sure I could try. What for? – JW**

_A case has come up. Brighton. Asked for us specifically according to Lestrade – SH_

**Alright, well I don’t suppose I really have a choice. Can’t have myself substituted with Greg again, we all know how that went last time. I’m sure I can get the week off – JW**

_That was his own fault, he shouldn’t be so squeamish but it’s much appreciated, John – SH_

**So what’s so important they need us specifically then? – JW**

_Seven disappearances. Connecting factor being a hotel – SH_

**Brilliant. So they’re linked by the hotel? – JW**

_Yes – SH_

**We can’t say we don’t get the interesting ones, I guess. Told Sarah we’re on police business again, I get the week off starting in ten minutes. When are we needed? – JW**

_Tonight. Only the Brighton police force know we will be coming, the hotel staff and owner will think us just normal customers – SH_

**...We’re staying in the hotel? – JW**

_Yes, also we’re to act as a couple – SH_

**You’re insane, I’m insane for going along with this – JW**

_The missing people are also linked by their sexual preferences. They’re all openly homosexual – SH_

**So we’re going to be bait? Openly gay couple bait? – JW**

_Yes John, I see no problem with that. Do you? – SH_

**No, no, no problem, I mean, it’ll stop more disappearances if we catch the criminal so whatever we have to do – JW**

_Exactly. I’ve already books us a room. For purposes of our charade relationship our story will be much the same as the facts, how we met, being flatmates and such. Obviously we’ll add that we fell in love and our cover is that we’re on holiday because it will be our year anniversary in two days – SH_

**Right, makes sense. I’ll catch a cab and make my way back then, if we’re needed tonight – JW**

_I have already finished packing, I only wait for you – SH_

**Shouldn’t take all too long, half an hour tops – JW**

_Very good – SH_

* * *

 

John hopped out of the cab on Baker Street and paid the driver - something that was becoming an increasing occurrence since living with Sherlock - before moving up to the all too familiar black front door. He let himself in and started shedding his jacket on the stairs up to the flat. He couldn't believe he was going to have to do this.

All for the name of the case, of course, but he couldn't shake the frustrating buzz in the back of his mind that was making him doubt he was agreeing with this completely in the name of all that was good and just. John shook the thought from his mind as he placed his jacket on the hook on the back of the door, scanning around the flat for his genius flatmate.

"Sherlock?"

Said genius flatmate came out from his bedroom, carrying his own packed case and an empty one for John. He set them both down on the floor.

"Hello, John," he said as he looked at the other man. He moved through to the kitchen, having to deal with several experiments that wouldn't keep a week.

"I'm putting complete faith in your acting ability, you do realise that?" John called through to the kitchen, lumping the empty case over his shoulder as he watched the taller man flit around his experiments, "I mean, we pass just by walking down the street, but this is different. Not that I need to be telling you that, but I guess I'm just checking you know what this is going to entail."

He really didn't want to think about it, not in depth, but his brain was filling his head with all sorts of possibilities.

John physically shook his head to get rid of the thoughts, moving out along the hall and halfway up the stairs, on route to packing.

"I'm well aware how to act within a relationship John!" Sherlock called back before smirking to himself.

He was going to enjoy this. It was rather amusing when John constantly had to deny rumours that they were in a relationship but now that the man would have to confirm them, and even act on them, Sherlock thought this was going to provide some interesting data about his flatmate.

"But don't worry, I shan't be requiring sex, I think that would be pushing the charade a little too far."

John went to roll his eyes as he moved up the stairs, but Sherlock's last comment seemed to stop him in his tracks. He stood there for what felt like an age before figuring that Sherlock would have heard him falter and he picked up the pace again.

He made his way up into his bedroom, cursing his bad luck that this stupid bloody case would require him to act as though he was in a relationship with his bloody brilliant, attractive- _ **No** **.**_

John sat down on the corner of his bed and ruffled his hands through his hair.

Think objectively.

It's a case, not a week away with Sherlock where this is completely normal.

It's a case...

John took a deep breath before he stood, flinging open the doors to his wardrobe and packing whatever he saw first - shirts, jeans, jumpers, underwear (obviously) - into the case provided. He packed his gun underneath his clothes and couldn't help but chuckle at how ridiculous it looked packed in beside toiletries. John zipped his case up and made his way downstairs, essentially ready to leave.

Sherlock had pulled on his coat and scarf and was now standing over by the window, looking out over London. He turned his head as John came down the stairs and watched as John wheeled the case into the hall and left it at the top of the stairs, heading back to the door to shrug his jacket back on.

"All set?"

Sherlock nodded and fetched his own case.

"Cab's waiting downstairs," Sherlock moved over, stroking his hand across John's chest as he passed him on the way down the stairs, "come on darling," he said, shooting a smirk to the other man.

John would get him back for this, one way or another of course but for now, John could show Sherlock just how well he could play this up. The consulting detective wasn't the only one with a decent acting ability, after all.

As he moved past him, John shifted forwards and tapped Sherlock’s arse gently, chuckling to himself.

"Coming, honey," he retorted, rolling his eyes as he lifted his case and followed Sherlock out to the cab. If he could keep it jovial, he'd be fine.

Mostly.

Sherlock chuckled deep in his throat and opened the door to the cab, gesturing for John to get in.

"After you my sweet," he said, looking intensely into John's eyes. He had to admit that his heart had fluttered when John had touched his arse but had filed away the information that John was definitely not afraid to act using physical measures.

"Ugh, come on, that's sickly even for you. We need to agree on pet names if we're going to keep this up. If you keep doing that I'm just going to end up laughing at you every time you open your mouth," John said with a grin, shaking his head as he slid into the cab. He set his case to the left of his feet, against the furthest door, and patted the seat beside him for Sherlock to join him.

"Come on love, we're going to end up being late and I'll be too tired to indulge you if we are."

God, he was going to have to stop insinuating things, especially so bloody early into their facade.

Christ.

Sherlock smirked and slid in beside John, sitting very close. He put his own case beside his feet and closed the door, rattling off the address and town to the cabbie. As the cab set off Sherlock let his hand rest on John's thigh and he moved down to whisper in John's ear; "well, we can't have that can we?"

Bastard.

John's jaw clenched for a fraction of a second before he relaxed, shifting in towards Sherlock and putting an arm across his shoulders. They were going to have to play it up for a week, he may as well start properly now. He covered Sherlock's hand with his own, drawing a line up from this knuckles to the cuff of his shirt before moving his hand back.

"We certainly can't."

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at the closeness, the lips right next to his ear. All he'd have to do is turn his head... How close were they going to be? How convincing? He didn't know, and he'd let Sherlock draw the line on that one.

Sherlock's other hand snaked around John's waist and smiled. This was certainly better than he'd anticipated, John going much further than he thought the man would be comfortable with. Sherlock gave John's thigh a small squeeze, running it further up slightly.

"Well, for someone who isn't gay you certainly know how to act that part very well," Sherlock purred, turning his head to look at John, his breath ghosting over the man's lips as he spoke.

"Hmm, well you can thank Harry for this. Especially recently. My dear sister has managed to worm her way under my skin, I'm surprised you didn't catch on to the confession she'd pulled out of me."

John smiled gently, tightening the arm on Sherlock's shoulders marginally.

Harry had managed to explain and shown John that he was, in fact, bisexual and had been since he was a teenager. He'd just never registered it before. Not gay, so that wasn't wholly a lie, but not one-hundred-percent straight either. He licked his lips before he knew what he was doing, but managed to hold Sherlock's gaze.

"For someone who is married to their work and doesn't do relationships, you're not doing so badly yourself."

Sherlock smirked. He had known about John's little revelation but thought it best not to mention it, instead waiting for John to feel ready to tell him. It seems his flatmate had taught him some things about manners and personal business. He chuckled and moved to press a kiss to John's neck.

"I wasn't always married to my work," he hissed into John's ear hotly before pulling back, putting some distance between them and returning to his normal state, starting to talk about the case.

John turned back to face the front of the cab as he let out a small, breathy chuckle. The detective continued to jabber on about the case and John folded his arms across his chest, leaning his head back against the head rest to listen half-heartedly.

It would be a long ride to Brighton and it had been one Hell of a day at the clinic. He didn't trust himself not to nod off if Sherlock kept talking about factors and variables and possible suspects.

Sherlock suddenly stopped talking mid sentence, as if someone had turned off a radio, and coiled his arm around John's shoulders, pulling the other man to lean against his body.

“Sleep, I'll wake you up when we get there," Sherlock said, although his voice was blank like normal and held nothing of its flirtatious nature such as before.

John rolled his head to the side in the crook of Sherlock's arm and his brow furrowed, looking up at the other from where he'd been tugged into his side. Like he was going to get anything from Sherlock's face as it was, but it never stopped him trying. Broken from his revere by a yawn, John had to agree that sleep sounded like a bloody brilliant idea.

He shifted to lean properly against the taller man, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hands before he tilted his head and pecked a small kiss to the underside of Sherlock’s jaw, half on his neck. His eyes slipped closed and he yawned again, drawing Sherlock's arm across his chest for extra warmth.

"Yeah, if y'wake me up-" another yawn, "-with a smack to my forehead, I'll kill you." Sherlock gave a small chuckle and coiled his arms tighter around John, bringing him closer to share his warmth.

"I can't promise anything," he said with a smile that only just teased his lips. He pressed a small kiss onto John's forehead in return to the one he had received and let the man slowly fall asleep in his arms, smiling at how good it felt to have John so close.

Usually he hated physical contact and to be truthful, the idea of doing this with any other person made Sherlock feel nauseas but this was John and he was certainly looking forward to a week of similar positions.

John curled closer to Sherlock in his sleep, the other man surprisingly warm for once. He mumbled in his sleep, his hand finding its way onto Sherlock's stomach and fisting in his shirt.

Sherlock merely smiled and retreated to his Mind Palace, which seemed to have locked every room bar the ones he’d dedicated quite willingly to the man in his arms.


	2. The Hotel

When John woke, the cab was still moving but the sun had faded from the sky, sinking below the horizon. John just lay there for a moment, leaning on Sherlock's chest, though he knew the other would clock he was awake.

Sherlock gave John a few moments to wake up before he tilted his head down to look at the other.

"Another ten minutes and we'll be there," he said softly, loosening his hold on John in case the man wanted to move, "I trust you slept well, although I wasn't expecting you to wake until we arrived at the hotel."

"Hmm, you and me both," John mumbled, rolling his head to the side and rubbing a hand across his face. As his palm slipped from his eyes, his gaze met Sherlock's and he smiled sleepily. This was nice, even if it was all a ruse. He could hold on to this at least, as sad as it sounded.

"You're surprisingly comfortable, just so you know."

He took his hand from Sherlock's shirt, smoothing out the creases with a few fingers and readjusting one of the buttons.

Sherlock smiled back at John, liking how utterly adorable he looked when still sleepy. He liked the feeling of John's hand on his stomach, even through his clothes and let the man continue with his ministrations.

"So, you wanted to agree what pet names to use lest you 'laugh in my face'," Sherlock said, chuckling slightly and stroking a hand over John's hair, flattening down the strands that had become dishevelled in his sleep.

John nodded slightly, laughing quietly as he shifted his stiff muscles, stretching a little as he folded one leg over the other. The hand in his hair was making it very hard to think between that sensation and the words trying to form on his tongue. He had to close his eyes to concentrate his thought pattern or he'd wind up making a complete prick of himself.

"Might be a good idea. You ever use 'my sweet' on me again and I'm going to die laughing, I swear. 'Darling' isn't too bad; I like 'love' for you, just seems a bit fitting. As long as it's nothing sickly, I reckon I'll be alright. Thoughts?"

"If you ever so much as utter 'baby', 'babe’, ‘sweet cheeks’ or anything to that effect I will make sure to have a head in the fridge every day for a year," Sherlock said firmly but there was a smirk on his face, "I think I shall stick to 'darling' or simply call you John."

Sherlock kept his fingers running through John's hair long after he needed to, liking how soft it felt against his skin.

"Kisses, I'll keep strictly to your face and not your lips as I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable, seeing as we are not in fact a real couple."

John couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed that Sherlock wanted to keep things amicable, and not go for the whole deal. But that didn't mean he couldn't, right?

Maybe.

John nodded all the same, agreeing with everything he'd said. He wasn't about to risk the heads in the fridge at any rate. He shifted up, moving Sherlock's arm around his shoulders again, and pressed his hand to his chest. He pecked a kiss to his cheek with a small, soft smile.

"Whatever you say, love."

It was stupidly easy to slip into the guise of being with Sherlock and it almost stunned him how comfortable it all was. John pecked another kiss to the side of his jaw, hoping it didn't come across like he was thoroughly enjoying this, before settling back into his side and watching as the coast flashed past the cab windows.

Sherlock smiled and tightened his hold on John slightly. He covered John's hand on his chest with his own and watched out of John's side window so that he could rest his cheek on the side of John's head comfortably. Another five minutes and they were there. Sherlock pulled back; regrettably he noted and pulled his case with him.

He paid the cabbie and as John followed him, his own case in tow, he couldn't help but smile.

The hotel was quaint, not too large but big enough to accommodate a good number of guests. Cream colour stone set with large wooden window frames of a bright white meant that the hotel itself didn’t stand out from the rest along the sea front.

They made their way into the hotel through large double doors that were lighter than they looked. The reception area was marble, or made to look it. Their shoes clicked along the floor as they approached the front desk where a woman stood.

“Hello gentlemen, my name’s Bessie, I’m the owner, have you got a reservation?”

Bessie was an older woman, about Mrs Hudson’s age or maybe a little older. She was plump and short, blonde hair tied back tightly on her head and the dress she wore had obviously seen better days as even the pattern was fading from the fabric.

“Yes, under the name Watson,” Sherlock told the woman with a polite smile. Bessie smiled back before tapping away on the computer, much the same way as John typed, before handing the detective a key.

“Room 38, second floor, if there’s a problem just ring down and I’ll be up in a jiffy,” she said kindly. John gave a smile back to the woman and once they’d both thanked her Sherlock led John over to the lift so that they wouldn't have to manage the stairs with their cases.

This was far too nice and John was slowly beginning to panic that he wouldn't be able to go back to normal once this week was out. He stayed moderately quiet until they'd reached the lift, letting out a sigh of relief as it pinged down onto the first floor.

"Good call, love. You'd never lug that case up the stairs; I'd end up carrying you," John teased, stepping into the lift and leaning on the metal rail along the back.

"That and you'd probably pass out from exhaustion." Sherlock bit back, smiling.

They were silent till they reached the second floor and Sherlock insisted upon rolling along John's case as well as his own, giving John the key to their room so that he could open the door. They walked along the corridor, eventually finding their room.

Sherlock had already begun his study of the hotel, from the moment they stepped out of the cab. It was nearing eleven at night and Sherlock had resigned himself to the fact that he shouldn't go off investigating as it would cause suspicion, especially as John was meant to be his lover and they should want to spend their nights together.

Reaching out and taking his case, John threaded his fingers through Sherlock's spare hand and led him inside.


	3. The Hotel Room

The room wasn't big but it was adequate. The double bed was on the far left side wall. There was a wardrobe, small desk with which a television sat upon. To the right was a door that led to the bathroom and a small sofa just by the door. The walls were covered in ancient looking wallpaper that would have been a deep green when it was first done but was now a faded hue of its mother colour. The carpet was beige, as beige as could be and the colour of the wooden furniture seemed to match it.

Sherlock closed the door behind them and placed his case at the bottom of the bed. He took off his coat and scarf and hung them up in the wardrobe, noticing there was an extra blanket and pillow in there. John pushed his case across the floor with his foot, leaning it against the bottom of the bed beside Sherlock's

"I shall sleep on the sofa if you like,” Sherlock said.

A small laugh passed John’s lips and he sat down on the end of the bed, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt against the cosy heat of the room. He lay back on the bed, feet still on the floor, and untucked his shirt from his jeans, rubbing at the indent from his belt on his stomach.

"You don't have to, you know. I can take the sofa. But it's not as though we've never passed out next to each other before, on the sofa or wherever."

Sherlock chuckled and couldn't help but let his eyes roam over John's body, quickly looking away as he realised what he was doing.

"I don't feel like sleeping, you take the bed, I may join you later on," he said before opening his suitcase and fetching his toiletries and pyjama's, moving into the bathroom to change and brush his teeth.

 John rolled onto his side to watch Sherlock pad into the bathroom. The other man had his back to him, so John didn't even try to hide the raking glance he gave the other, his eyes rolling over the plains of his back and over the curve of his arse.

No harm in looking, after all.

He pushed himself to sitting and unbuttoned his shirt properly, shrugging it from his shoulders and folding it behind him. He scooted forwards on his chest and leaned over the end of the bed, unzipping his case and dragging a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms from the depths of the case.

Sherlock, wearing nothing but a pair of silk pyjama bottoms emerged from the bathroom and nodded slightly at John when the man passed him to get ready for bed as well. Sherlock fetched the blanket from the wardrobe before settling himself on the sofa.

Despite the nap in the cab, John was asleep in seconds as soon as his head hit the pillow, duvet flung down at his hips as he tossed and turned in the night.

 

Sherlock sat up on the sofa, the blanket coiled around him for little over three hours before his mind eventually started to become fuzzy.

He needed sleep.

Annoyingly.

He sighed and before he knew it he was sinking into the comfortable mattress, pulling the duvet up around his and John’s shoulders. He moved so that his back was pressed against John's back tightly and sighed. He nuzzled his face into the pillow and felt his eyes slipping closed.

John wasn't a light sleeper by any means - one of the reasons he was such a good flatmate for Sherlock, being able to sleep through most of his nights playing the violin loudly downstairs - but John’s subconscious felt the cool back slide against his own. The doctor rolled around in his sleep, tucking his head in between Sherlock's shoulder blades with a contented sigh. His arms made their way around Sherlock's waist, his legs tangling with the longer ones belonging to the consulting detective. A soft, approving hum echoed in the back of his throat, turning into a light snore. Sherlock smiled slightly and decided there could be no harm in this as long as he rose before John did. He allowed himself the luxury of John’s warmth and arms as he slipped into a deep sleep.

 

It was half eight on the dot when Sherlock woke up. He grumbled slightly as light hit him in the face from where neither of them had closed the curtains. He noticed John’s warmth was still surrounding him but the breathing against his back was not in the rhythm of sleep. John was awake and apparently content to simply lie like this. Sherlock filed away this new information before his mind instantly went to what the day would hold and the case. The bait had been set, themselves being the bait. First he would examine the room, then the hotel, maybe sending John off to talk with some of the staff, the owner maybe, better left to John to deal with people.

 

John had been awake early, an old army habit that refused to leave which would always vex John; he was very, _very_ fond of his sleep.

Once he noted Sherlock was awake he smiled and pulled away from where he’d been resting his cheek on the man’s spine.

"G'morning," his voice was rough with sleep, “sleep well? If you slept, obviously.”

Sherlock rolled onto his stomach and stretched languidly.

"I slept yes, and very well," he replied before sitting up in bed and stifling a yawn, "I was thinking about the case, I'll need you to try and see if you can find out as much as you can about the hotel, the owners etcetera.”

 He stood up and moved over to look out of the window to survey their surroundings, his body blocking out the light to John and causing an ethereal glow to cascade over his porcelain skin, hair illuminated so that the deep brown hues were seen at the edge of his curls.

Rolling onto his back, John stretched out across the bed and ran a hand down his chest, dispelling the stiffness from his sleepy skin. He knuckled his eyes and looked over at Sherlock, licking his lips subconsciously as his eyes wandered again, taking in the exposed skin he was seeing.

Sure, he'd seen Sherlock shirtless before and sometimes close to stark bollock naked - bit hard not to when he was wandering around the flat in a sheet sometimes or coming out of the bathroom thinking John isn't in, towel barely clutched around his bony hips - but this was something else. He swallowed and sat up, pushing back the provocative thoughts that had scuttled into the forefront of his mind.

"Right, we could always have looked them up, y'know? I can do some people work, it's not a problem. What's your plan for the day then?"

Sherlock turned and moved away from the window.

**“** Yes but the information you find on the internet is usually very different to that of the rumours you hear from word of mouth," Sherlock said. He went over to his case, bending over to pick out some clothes.

"I shall inspect the room, see if there are any clues to be found, also I shall search around the hotel, we have a week and as far as I know we are the only guests who are thought to be homosexual, meaning there is no rush as no one is in danger."

John rolled his eyes and sighed.

“You mean, beyond us? Well, that's reassuring."

He pulled himself onto his knees and crawled down the bed, flopping onto his stomach as Sherlock bent over into his case. He met his gaze for a brief moment before his mind decided to shove itself into the gutter, reminding him what parts of his best friend's anatomy he was currently in line with. John felt his ears heat and he ducked into his own case, drawing out clean clothes before pushing himself up, gun toppling out onto the floor.

"Doesn't hurt to be prepared." He explained vaguely.

When John's gun dropped to the floor, Sherlock simply smiled and pulled back another of his shirts inside his own case to reveal his gun.

John moved into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He left the door open as it warmed up, leaning on the sink to talk to him.

"Right, so you'll go all Scooby Doo around the hotel, and I'll see what the locals think. Sounds like a good enough plan to me."

"My plan's are always good,” Sherlock commented as he slowly slipped his pyjama bottoms down over his hips, letting them fall to the floor, his back to the other man.

"We should probably meet to go out for lunch, keep up the guise of our relationship, twelve o'clock in the lobby?" He asked as he slowly let his underwear fall to the floor as well.

John had run himself a glass of water by the time Sherlock had finished talking and he dragged his gaze from the shower to the other man. John's eyes widened and he all but choked on the water in his mouth, coughing as he covered his lips with his hand. He swallowed despite the slight burn coming from choking and set the glass aside. He tore his eyes away from the pristine, pale arse that was now being presented to him. John turned to the shower and, dropping his pyjamas and pants in one swift movement, moved under the spray. He ruffled the hot water through his hair and let his hands glide over his back; trying to calm himself down and think of anything but the completely bare flesh he’d just seen.

"Twelve sounds good. I'll see what the locals know and make some notes. Just don't get us thrown out with your snooping.”

Sherlock pulled on his clean underwear and saw John had left the door open as he showered. Without a second thought, he moved over to the bathroom and stood inside while John was showering before proceeding to preen himself in the mirror, running his hands through his hair to comb it back.

John went to reach out of the shower and over to the sink to get his toothbrush but jumped and almost fell out of the shower.

“I know we’re playing a couple but this is a bit much,” John exclaimed which caused Sherlock to just glance over at him, subtly letting his eyes rake over John’s wet skin, or what he could see of it thanks to the curtain obscuring his view.

Oddly, despite his protests, John couldn't find himself caring, simply picking up his toothbrush and brushing his teeth as he stood under the jet of water, glancing at Sherlock in the mirror every now and then.

 

Once Sherlock was finished up in the bathroom he left, shutting the door behind him as he began to dress. He pulled on his trousers and was about to button up his shirt when he stopped.

The room was silent. Completely so.

He started moving around the room, tapping on the walls before somehow managing to get himself behind the wardrobe by the time John came out of the bedroom and letting out a waft of humid air from the shower.

John looked over when he heard movement from behind the wardrobe and raised his eyebrow as he pulled on his underwear and jeans.

"How do you even do that? Are you secretly the elastic man, Sherlock?" John laughed, moving closer and peering in on the other man.

Sherlock slid out from behind the wardrobe, brushing his body past John's and making sure to run a hand up John's thigh cheekily.

"I'm very flexible," he said simply, smirking as he moved to the other side of the wardrobe and peered in at the space where he'd just been. He looked down and noticed he had dust on his chest. He grimaced and moved over to the mirror that was mounted on the wall next to the bed. He rubbed at his bare chest, trying to get the dust off his skin as he grumbled about poor cleaning staff.

"The walls connecting the rooms are very thick, you would struggle to hear a commotion if you were in the next room and only a very loud scream would alert you to anything, I couldn’t even hear the shower when I shut the bathroom door," he commented, looking at John through the mirror.

John nodded slightly before he looked at Sherlock’s ministrations and rolled his eyes.

"You're only making it worse- Stop rubbing it! Oh my God, come here-" John slipped his hands around Sherlock's chest, running his hands across the dusty skin and brushing gently, knocking the dust away. He ignored the lewd comment he could've made about loud screams, focusing on getting rid of the grey smudges staining Sherlock's skin.

John wasn’t the only one trying to ignore certain things. John's hands felt divine on Sherlock’s skin.

"Thank you, dear,” he said with a chuckle as he pressed a kiss to John's forehead. He buttoned up his shirt and pulled back, tucking it into his trousers and moving over to the window, opening it wide and leaning out to survey the surrounding area, if anyone would be able to climb up or the like. He realised with a smirk that he was bent over out of the window and made sure to stick his arse out even more, his trousers clinging to him and revealing his lean figure.

John shook his head in amusement and grabbed his jacket and phone, pressing his gun into the inside pocket of his jacket and strapping it into the holster he had stitched there. The doctor walked over, leaned against Sherlock’s arse and reached over his back, straightening out Sherlock’s collar and smoothing it down. Sherlock nestled back a bit against John and smirked when he saw a slight blush to the man's cheeks as he moved away.

"I'll head off and talk to the locals then, love," John spoke teasingly as he reached the door, "I'll see you at twelve?"

Sherlock straightened up, looked over at John and nodded before he turned back to the window, examining the glass this time, running his fingers over the surface. John smiled fondly at Sherlock as the man turned away from him before he closed the door behind him and dug his hands into his pockets, taking the stairs down to the lobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Get ready for some good old flirting and couple-acting next chapter!


	4. The Investigation

“Good morning, sir,” Bessie said cheerfully from behind the desk as John emerged from the stairs. The doctor smiled and moved over to her.

“Morning, I’m wondering if you can help me,” John said. The elderly woman smiled and nodded; putting down her pen she was holding and gesturing for John to continue.

“Well what type of things could someone do here, you know, to kill a couple of hours?”

Bessie chuckled and smiled.

“The pier will be nice this time, before the crowds are out, my daughter used to say it was always nice if a little chilly from the sea air,” she replied. John smiled and nodded slightly.

“Well that does sound rather nice. So your daughter doesn’t live here anymore?”

Bessie shook her head.

“No, her and my son moved away last year, it’s just myself and my husband here now,” she replied. John nodded along and smiled at the woman.

“So what do you and your husband do when you’re not working? Me and my partner are here for our year anniversary and I want to do something special,” John said, feeling his cheeks blush slightly and heart skip a beat with calling Sherlock his ‘partner’.

Bessie paused and hummed in thought before looking back at John.

“There’s a lovely, romantic restaurant right in the centre of the pier that people like you would love,” she said.

John raised an eyebrow.

“People like me?”

Bessie nodded and smiled.

“Yes, you know, people like you and your partner,” she replied. John decided not to push it and just gave her a fake smile.

“Well thank you, have a good day,” he said before walking out into the fresh morning air.

John would've bet a fiver then and there that it was her, that she was the killer.

He sighed peacefully as he walked along the high street. It proved mostly fruitless.

After talking to several locals and beach performers, mentioning where he and Sherlock were staying and such, John noted that the locals didn't seem to like Bessie all too much.

They labelled her as someone who was infinitely pushy and opinionated and as someone who didn't get involved in the community at all; beyond her contribution to the tourism board of course.

He walked around for a little longer, taking in the rainbow banners hanging from the fronts of clubs and shops, smiling to himself at the general acceptance of the place.

John eventually sat down on a wall after buying himself an ice-cream, checking his watch.

Eleven-thirty.

 He had time to relax for a little bit before meeting Sherlock for lunch, and he did have a soft spot for the beach.

* * *

 

After John had left and once Sherlock had finished with the window; and their room in general, the detective went about searching the hotel. He pocketed the room key and left.

No CCTV.

Two floors, twenty rooms on each floor, forty rooms in total.

He met some of the other guests, polite chit-chat; yes he was capable of it when he needed to be, he’d tell John later, John would be pleased.

He came across an electronically locked door. After making sure no one was around and he could hear no one inside he keyed in the pass code, finding it out thanks to the amount of fading on each number indicating which ones had been used the most, after that it was child’s play. Inside was...not something he was expecting.

He'd have to tell John about this later.

Sherlock made it out of their room at five to twelve. His mind was racing with new information, new predictions and new variables and he almost bumped into one of the maids. He flashed her, what he hoped to be, an apologetic smile and she fluttered her eye lashes at him. He politely informed her of his 'partner' and their relationship before she sighed and continued on with her work.

Sherlock first went into their room, fetching his wallet and pulling on his coat and scarf. He was rather looking forward to seeing John, even if he couldn't tell him about the case out in the open he simply enjoyed the man's company.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to control his mop of curls as he made his way down the stairs this time to meet John in the lobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Couple-y stuff coming next! Promise!


	5. The Public Performance

At ten to twelve, John moved up from the sea front, happily licking his way through his second ice-cream.

He couldn't help it; he was like an excitable five-year-old when it came to beaches and sunshine, even if it was a little cooler than usual. He made his way up to the hotel again and into the lobby, spotting Sherlock with a grin.

He moved towards him, still licking idly at his almost finished ice-cream, the cylindrical 'milk lolly' close to the wooden stick now. John leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, wiping the smudge of white from his ‘lover’s’ cheek with a laugh.

"Afternoon love, have a good morning?"

Sherlock grinned and leaned down, stealing a lick to John's ice cream.

"Very productive, a lot to tell you," Sherlock said quietly and took John's free hand in his; intertwining their fingers, "I was thinking maybe you could show me around outside the hotel, I can see you've thoroughly enjoyed yourself."

He could feel the eyes of someone and out of his peripheral vision he could see an older man sitting behind the desk.

Must be the owner's husband.

He ignored the stare and gave another lick of the ice cream.

"Hey, get your own," John teased, moving his ice lolly out of Sherlock’s reach. He loosened his hand from Sherlock's, opting to slide it around his waist and curl his fingers on his hip instead, keeping him close. He noticed the older man staring and, for once, genuinely didn't give a toss. He licked and sucked at his ice-cream, winking at Sherlock as they left the hotel and moved out into the increasing sunlight, heading towards the famous Brighton Pier.

"And I did enjoy myself, actually. Always been a sucker for the seaside."

Sherlock slipped his own arm around John's shoulders and chuckled at the man before pressing a kiss to his temple.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, I must admit this makes a rather...tolerable change from London," Sherlock commented, taking in the sights around him. It was much quieter than London and, while there were lots of people going about and things to observe, Sherlock couldn’t find himself concentrating properly on anything other than John almost pressed against his side.

“Mm, can I record you saying that?" John teased, finishing his ice-cream and tossing the stick into a nearby bin expertly.

"Seriously, the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't mind the peace of the seaside, breaking headlines."

He laughed as he shook his head, pecking a few kisses to the underside of Sherlock’s jaw as they walked. This was fantastic and he knew now that he would never be able to look at the two of them normally again. He wanted this to be a permanent fixture, and he accepted the thought.

"We should go down to the sand later on, might even push you in the sea," Sherlock suddenly said with a grin.

"Push me in the sea? Please, I have swimming gear in my case, I'd just enjoy it. Then again, so would you. I reckon you'd _love_ the sight of me coming out of the sea, your own personal little beach bum, hmm?"

John was enjoying teasing Sherlock far too much, especially as he purred that into his ear.

Sherlock let his hand trail down John's back and squeezed his arse, well aware that someone might see him doing it.

"Well you _do_ have a rather gorgeous behind," he teased back.

This all felt extremely natural and it didn't feel like they were acting any more. This thought was...rather frightening to Sherlock if he was going to be honest. He never thought he'd feel this way about someone let alone someone he lived with and who he was currently faking a relationship with.

John jumped at the hand squeezing his bum, the tops of his ears turning near scarlet as he chuckled.

The noise sounded a little nervous even to him, but only because he'd not been expecting the gesture. He pushed back lightly into Sherlock's hand, settling a hand on the man’s chest and brushing his fingertips across it, fairly sure he could feel every inch of his skin beneath his tight shirt, muscles, nipples and all.

John pecked another kiss to his jaw, lightly grazing the skin with his teeth, winking at him.

"Aren't you lucky it's all yours then? If anyone else tried that, they'd get a smack, but not you love, _obviously_."

This was slowly moving out of the realms of faking it, if only on his part, and John could feel it happening. He wasn't sure whether to be terrified or excited at the prospect of finally allowing himself to admit he wanted Sherlock.

Sherlock smirked and decided to leave his hand on John's arse. He slipped it into John's jeans back pocket and let his palm just rest against the man's arse.

"Oh very lucky, luckiest man alive at least," Sherlock said with a smile and leant down, kissing John's forehead then pecking his nose affectionately, “I thought we could have dinner in the hotel's restaurant tonight, my treat of course."

John was repeating the same thing over and over in his head: Must not kiss him

"That sounds lovely, any chance to show people how gorgeous you look in a suit when you've made an effort, of course."

Must not kiss him.

It hadn't even been twenty-four hours yet and he was already feeling the overwhelming urge to snog this genius man into oblivion.

Bit not good.

He chuckled at the kiss to his nose, poking his tongue out at him in childish retaliation, wriggling the tip petulantly.

The hand on Sherlock’s chest stayed put, stroking lazy, idle lines as they walked along the wall. They probably looked like one of those couples in the holiday brochures, the ones that made everyone feel either sick or envious. John laughed at the thought before shaking his head.

 

“After this week...we should holiday again somewhere, to another beach of course, seeing as you like them so much,” Sherlock commented, looking down as he heard John laugh.

At the mention of another holiday, John's eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he grinned.

"Take up your brother's offer of shipping us to the Maldives, maybe? He's got an island, after all, no-one to disturb us and no tedious tourists."

It was moments like that, just walking and talking, planning something so obviously not just for best friends, where John was able to forget about the dangerous nature of the case they were wrapped up in.

“I wouldn't give my brother the satisfaction; his island would most likely be crawling with people only there to watch us,” Sherlock scoffed before giving John a smirk, “I'd want to take you somewhere private, keep you all to myself."

He gave a contented sigh and looked down at John, just taking in the man's handsome face.

"Mummy has a summer house in the Caribbean I'm sure she'd let us stay at," he mused, thoroughly enjoying the thought of John in swimming trunks.

John noted the pensive look on Sherlock’s face and grinned cheekily.

"Oi! Stop imagining me in swimwear, we're in public,” he chided playfully.

Sherlock laughed at that comment. He squeezed John's arse, thanks to the hand still in John's back pocket.

"Spoil sport," he teased as he shook his head lightly to rid himself of the image of John in swimwear.

John smiled and rested his head on the side of Sherlock’s shoulder.

“But yeah, I’d like that, another holiday, and the Caribbean definitely sounds better than Brighton,” he said and earned a hum of agreement and approval from Sherlock, feeling the vibrations through his cheek.

* * *

 

They ended up in an arcade, surrounded by 2p machines, side stalls and other arcade games. John just had to give Sherlock this look; this look that Sherlock thought shouldn’t have been able to be so persuasive.

“Fine,” he sighed and John grinned before grabbing his hand and dragging him off to play the games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - See? Couple-y stuff ^_^ Getting ready and geared up for more couple-y stuff and then we'll delve deeper into the case!


	6. The Dinner

After spending all afternoon in the arcade, and winning at least twenty pounds on the machines, Sherlock and John took a leisurely walk back towards their hotel. Sherlock had his arm around John's waist comfortably while the shorter male carried a large teddy bear, just about half the size of the good doctor.

"You know, there are more perks to you being a genius than just catching criminals," John suddenly said and glanced up at Sherlock with a grin, "I mean the look on that guys face when you actually won this teddy bear was pretty priceless."

Sherlock looked down at John and snorted but a smile teased his lips.

"Your expression was rather good as well," he commented.

John laughed and nudged Sherlock's ribs with his elbow playfully.

"Yeah well, I didn't think you'd  actually take me seriously when I said I wanted you to win it for me!"

Sherlock merely chuckled and kissed John's cheek.

"Anything for my John."

The doctor's cheeks flushed and he couldn't tell whether it was because of the possessive nature in which Sherlock referred to him or the kiss to his cheek.

Perhaps both.

Probably both.

 _Definitely_ both.

"So we're going to have dinner in the restaurant in the hotel?" John asked, changing the subject before all his blood rushed to his cheeks. Sherlock hummed and nodded.

"Indeed, more chance to find out about the owner and staff," he replied.

John nodded slightly as well before resting his head to the side on Sherlock's shoulder, hugging the huge teddy bear to his chest. 

* * *

It didn't take them long to get back to the hotel and John told Sherlock that he'd meet him in the restaurant seeing as he'd have to return to the room to put away the teddy bear and had said he'd wanted to freshen up a little too. The detective had agreed and given John's cheek a kiss before turning swiftly and walking towards the restaurant, his coat billowing out behind him at the dramatic move.     

John felt a little silly walking through the hallways carrying the large teddy bear and he felt even more silly when it occurred to him that he'd have to carry it on the return journey to London and their flat. Nevertheless, he gave polite smiles at other guests as he passed them and joked back as they made comments about the teddy. He finally made it back to the room and let himself in.

Something instantly felt different.

John looked around as he placed the teddy down on the bed, eyes tracing over every bit of the room. Nothing had been moved as far as he could tell, but then again he wasn't Sherlock so he couldn't be completely sure. He just quickly freshened himself up a bit and then made his way back downstairs. 

* * *

Sherlock made his way into the restaurant, finding it almost empty except for an elderly couple near the window and a man near the door.

_'Elderly couple, together fifty years - fifty years and six months to be precise - retired seamstress and fisherman._

_Married male, argument with wife who remained upstairs instead of joining him to dine. Ring box in his pocket, proposal gone wrong, lost his nerve.'_

Sherlock smirked slightly to himself at his own deductions that were so painfully obvious they'd almost hurt  _not_  to notice them.

 

John stepped into the restaurant and looked around before seeing Sherlock at a table near the centre. He smiled at just the sight of the man and walked towards him, coming up behind him and rest his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, leaning down and kissing the man's cheek.

"Sorry for the wait, love, had to find a place to put Gladstone," he said and sat down opposite Sherlock at the table. The detective raised an eyebrow, a little smile teasing his lips.

"Gladstone? You've called the bear _Gladstone_?"

John grinned and chuckled, shrugging. Sherlock rolled his eyes but there was clear amusement on his face and he nudged John's foot under the table.

"Oh do not start a game of footsie with me," John said and nudged Sherlock's foot in return. Sherlock's brow furrowed for a moment before shaking his head slightly, deciding that the knowledge of 'footsie' would be unnecessary.

Just then a tall, skinny man came over, a bright smile on his face.

"Well hello, gentlemen! I'm Gordon, it's nice to see you this evening," he said.

"You're Bessie's husband," Sherlock said, interrupting John as the doctor went to greet the man in return. Gordon chuckled and nodded.

"Yes, sir, that's me! She works on the front desk mostly and I'm the odd jobs man, I can do just about any job going," he replied cheerfully.

Sherlock merely hummed. Both detective and doctor ordered something to eat and the co-owner trotted off with their menu's to make their food, promising it wouldn't be long, Sherlock subtly looking Gordon up and down.

"Was it him?" John asked quietly with an eyebrow raised. Sherlock scoffed and shook his head.

"Hardly," he replied as if it were obvious because...well to him it _was_. John chuckled slightly.

"Of course," he said and waved a hand dismissively, "how silly of me to think it would be as simple as that?"

Sherlock looked at John for a moment before a smirk teased his features and the corner of his mouth upturned slightly.

"So eager to get home are you, _sweetheart_?"

"No," John said a little too quickly before he cleared his throat, "no, no, of course not dear, just wondered."

The detective hummed and nodded slightly, flashing John an amused smile before he took out his phone and began texting Lestrade.

John glanced around before settling his gaze out of the window. Clouds were drawing in now and the sea view looked imposing. John sighed and rest his chin in his hand with his elbow propped up on the table.

There would probably be a storm tonight, or at least some heavy rain, the clouds looked dark enough for it and John was never good with those, it always made him anxious for some reason, perhaps because of that time when Sherlock had sprinted off during a case in the pouring rain with thunder rumbling and lightening flashing which ended up in the detective turning up back at the flat four hours later with near hypothermia and soaked through to the skin. John had never been so worried, angry, relieved and happy all at once before. The detective had earned both a few stern words and about five cups of tea.

Once their food had arrived, John exchanged polite small talk with Gordon, something Sherlock despised. Small talk consisted of three topics the detective had summarized through observation. The weather, sports, recent television programmes including news headlines and films. It was the weather that John had chosen to strike up 'conversation'. Sherlock sighed silently to himself as he ate the rather bland pasta he'd ordered and waited for John to give the right social cue to end the conversation.

"Well, thank you for the food," John said after a few more minutes of chitchat. Sherlock smirked slightly as the cue was finally given and Gordon smiled and nodded.

"You're welcome, enjoy!"

Sherlock chuckled as Gordon walked away and John raised an eyebrow at him, causing Sherlock to shake his head slightly.

"Nothing, nothing, you should eat before your food gets cold."

John nodded as he looked at Sherlock before shrugging and starting to eat.

"It seems we'll be spending this evening in our room because of the storm," John commented as they ate, "that won't be too boring for you, will it?"

Sherlock glanced out of the window, rain already spitting against the glass.

"I'll have to find something to entertain myself with," he replied and winked at John just as one of the other diners looked over at them.

John chuckled and smiled but his cheeks turned slightly pink as his brain decided to shove itself into the gutter.

"I'm sure you will," he said after swallowing thickly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - I'm sooooooo sorry that this has taken me so long to update! I know, I'm a horrible horrible person with no excuse other than my brain being a bastard and not letting me write anything that didn't sound like utter drivel *hugs you all and hopes for forgiveness*.


	7. The Lights Out

"I'm glad we got out this afternoon," John mused as he looked out of the small bedroom window once they'd returned to their room, "it's really lashing down now."

Sherlock hummed in agreement as he shut their bedroom door, locking it behind himself. He hung his coat up and ruffled his own curls before sitting down on the edge of the bed with his phone, opening up the internet to check the weather forecast.

John realised he was still staring even after Sherlock had sat down and he quickly averted his eyes and took off his own coat, hanging it by Sherlock's.

There was a faint rumble outside and John returned to the window to look out at the dark clouds that were starting to engulf the hotel, the rain coming down so fast they looked like long shards of ice.

"The storm is meant to last tonight and most of tomorrow," Sherlock said as he read through the weather forecast online.

John sighed and nodded slightly, still looking out of the window. Sherlock glanced over at him when he didn't verbally reply.

"We could put the television on, see if there's anything worth deducing," he suggested. John cleared his throat before tearing his eyes away from the window and smiling.

"Sure," he replied and sat down on the bed, propping the pillows up against the headboard.

Sherlock grabbed the remote for the small TV that sat on the desk and swivelled it around to face the bed before he sat down beside John, handing him the remote.

"Probably won't be much on," John murmured as he started flipping through the channels, stopping now and then on random programmes before he settled on one of the soaps that was on.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow before relaxing back against the headboard and clasping his hands over his own stomach comfortably, noting that John's shoulder and thigh was brushing his own.

* * *

 

About an hour later, the storm was really raging outside, rain and wind bashing at the window and thunder growling over the sound of the TV quite often now. The two men were now mostly pressed against each other's sides, John's head on Sherlock's shoulder, smiling and chuckling as Sherlock deduced the see-through plotlines and obvious character archetypes, making sarcastic comments as he deduced.

A sudden flash of lighting after a particularly loud rumble of thunder made John look over at the window automatically, although they'd closed the curtains and thus couldn't see anything. That's when the lights cut out. Lights, the TV, the digital clock by the bed, everything electrical.

"Wonderful, a power cut," John grumbled.

He flapped his hand around in the dark, trying to grab his phone for some light. Sherlock sat up and stretched, his eyes adjusting to the dark so that he could just make out the outlines of the large pieces of furniture in the room. John grabbed his phone eventually and unlocked it, the screen lighting up. He used it as a makeshift torch to find his way to the window and open up the curtains, letting in a bit of light now, enough so the room was mostly visible.

“Just a fuse or trip-switch, streetlights and the lights on the pier are still on,” Sherlock commented, appearing at John’s side. John jumped and backhanded Sherlock’s arm slightly.

“Fuck, Sherlock, don’t do that,” he said. Sherlock chuckled slightly and rest a hand on his shoulder.

“I apologise, John,” he said and smirked, “I would have thought an ex-soldiers ears would have been more sensitive than that.”

John snorted and rolled his eyes but chuckled. Another flash of lightening and John leant against Sherlock, smiling slightly as he felt the detective’s arm sliding around his back and resting on his side.

“You’re afraid of storms, every time the thunder has sounded you’ve tensed, even when we were watching television,” Sherlock stated and John sighed.

“Not…not _afraid_ as such but…well you know what I’m like with unexpected loud bangs,” he said quietly.

Sherlock hummed in understanding and led John back over to the bed. The shorter man lay down again and was surprised, although very _very_ happy as the tall detective lay down behind him, spooning him.

“The thunder isn’t unexpected, it’s predictable,” Sherlock said softly, his arms around John with one hand on his stomach and one hand on his chest.

The doctor rest his hands on top of Sherlock’s and chuckled slightly.

“Are you seriously suggesting what I think you’re---?”

The thunder cut off the rest of John’s sentence and he let out a little breath. Sherlock’s lips against the back of his neck caused the next little breath but it was in surprise this time. Sherlock began counting quietly. The man reached thirteen before the thunder rumbled again and John tensed.

“Now you’ll know that every thirteen seconds there’ll be thunder,” Sherlock said.

John remained quiet as he counted in his head and prepared himself, indeed hearing the thunder outside as he reached thirteen.

“Thanks,” he mumbled and gave a squeeze to one of Sherlock’s hands.

“My pleasure, I can’t have my blogger scared, I don’t like seeing you like that,” Sherlock told him and John smiled slightly.

John had never realised how much he enjoyed hearing the detective refer to him as one of his possessions. ‘My John’, ‘my blogger’; those sorts of things made John’s chest flutter.

They lay in silence for at least twenty minutes before John slowly turned around and nestled into Sherlock’s chest, his nose brushing against Sherlock’s neck as he pushed his face into the crook. He was much more relaxed now, even though he’d lost count of the seconds between the thunder; with Sherlock there, he had something to focus on. One of Sherlock’s hands settled in the dip at John’s lower back and the other one started rubbing soothingly at the back of the doctor’s neck.

“Mmm, that feels nice,” John mumbled and closed his eyes.

Sherlock smiled and merely hummed, continuing with the rubbing, his fingertips working out little twisted knots he could feel under the tanned flesh. It was another ten minutes before John could force himself to look up and smile at Sherlock gratefully. The detective tilted his head down to smile back but he realised how close their faces were, their noses brushing. His cheeks started to tinge pink and he swallowed slightly.

“I…John…”

The doctor’s mouth had gone dry and he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to look at Sherlock’s eyes or his lips, both very tempting in their own right. Just as he was about to lean in there was a knock at the door that made him jump and thus knock their foreheads together hard. Both of them made noises of pain, John’s a grunted curse and Sherlock’s a little short gasp.

“Sorry,” John mumbled, standing up as he rubbed his forehead.

_Stupid, stupid Watson, what the fuck was that!?_

He headed over to the door and opened it, wincing again but this time having to cover his eyes as well as someone shined a light in his face.

“Sorry! Just me, Gordon,” the voice said. John gave a little smile and nodded.

“Oh, hi, storm cause a fuse to blow or something,” he asked Gordon. Gordon lowered the torch and nodded.

“Yep, unfortunately I can’t do anything about it but there’ll be an electrician here first thing in the morning. Just came to check on you folks and see if you were alright,” he said, his smile bright enough to blind John like the torch had.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine, don’t worry,” John said and smiled back slightly. Gordon nodded.

“Right then, if you need anything, Bessie is still at the front desk so just come on down, though don’t use the lift obviously,” he said and gave a little one finger salute from his forehead before he walked off down the hallway.

John closed the door again and locked it before turning back towards the bed, sighing.

“I think I’m gonna try and get some sleep now, Sherlock,” John said and the detective nodded.

“Alright, John, I shall turn my back and we can change at the same time,” he said as he grabbed his pyjama bottoms.

 

Once they were both in their pyjamas, the detective climbed into bed and lay on his back, holding his phone up above his face as he surfed the web. John slid in beside him and curled up, sighing heavily as he closed his eyes.

“Night, Sherlock,” John mumbled, trying to forget the fact that before Gordon had interrupted them they’d definitely been about to kiss. Sherlock looked down at John, giving a little smile even though John couldn’t see it. An almost kiss could be forgotten easily enough…hopefully.

“Goodnight, John, sleep well,” he whispered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - FINALLY finished my coursework and handed it in so here you go! Celebratory chapter. If you're lucky you might get a Christmas chapter as well but don't hold your breath ;) <3


	8. The Recording

John awoke alone. He only noticed this when he stretched out and didn't encounter the firm form of his bed partner. He swallowed thickly to rid himself of the disappointment of the night before.

They'd nearly kissed.

He'd _wanted_ them to kiss.

He sighed heavily, more a gruff huff of breath than anything else, then forced himself to sit up, stretching his arms above his head and then rubbing the familiar stiffness from his scarred shoulder.

"Ah, good, you're awake," Sherlock said as he came through the door carrying a plastic bag which John instantly assumed contained body part.

He no longer even realised how strange it was to assume such things about a person; he'd lived with Sherlock too long.

"Er yeah, where did you go and what's in the bag?"

Sherlock took his coat off and threw it onto the sofa before coming to sit on the bed, handing the bag to John. The doctor raised an eyebrow questioningly before slowly looking in the bag. Inside was a baguette sandwich with John's favourite filling and a bottle of ice tea; a recent obsession which John had found.

"I went downstairs to grab some of the brochures from the lobby and I ran into Bessie who said that they wouldn't be doing breakfast this morning because of the power cut, which will be fixed by this afternoon apparently, anyway, yes, once I found out that they wouldn't be serving breakfast I thought I would go and get you some," Sherlock replied, trailing off near the end and looking down almost bashfully.

John couldn't help but smile brightly and, before he fully registered his actions, he'd leant over and kissed Sherlock's cheek.

"Thank you, Sherlock, that was very thoughtful of you!"

Sherlock cleared his throat and nodded, trying to hide his smile.

"Yes, well, you're sixty eight percent more likely to conform to my suggestions and ideas during a case if you've eaten that morning," he said and got up. John merely chuckled and began eating, humming happily. Sherlock stood and looked out of the window.

"The weather has cleared up for now, we should go out. I want to survey the area, find the nearest DIY shop and also the local newsagents if possible," Sherlock said as he looked out of the window, hands in his pockets and then back to John. The doctor hummed as he took a bite of his sandwich.

"Mmhmm, alright, yeah," he said.

He ignored the way his chest fluttered. Going out meant acting. Acting meant flirting. Flirting meant trying to ignore the fact that they'd nearly kissed last night and trying to keep their banter seemingly smooth and casual. John glanced over at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye as the detective moved to sit on the sofa, however Sherlock merely sat there, eyes closing as he retreated to his mind palace to wait for John to be ready to go.

* * *

 "You'd never be able to tell there was a storm last night, everything looks the same," John commented as they headed down the street, their hands and fingers locked together. It had been Sherlock who had initiated the contact but there still seemed to be some tension between them, which was far different from the sexual tension that had been prevalent on their previous outing around town.

"Indeed, they are used to that sort of weather when living on the coast," Sherlock mused.

"The whole country is used to weather like that, it's England," John said and chuckled, smiling up at Sherlock. Sherlock merely flashed a little smile in return which caused John to sigh heavily.

"Sherlock...about last night," he started, moving to stand  in front of the taller man. One of Sherlock's hands rest itself on John's hip but the touch wasn't as natural, he could feel Sherlock was forcing himself to keep up the ruse of their 'relationship'. Not only did that make John feel uncomfortable but it also could affect the case.

"I think we need to..."

"Fags!"

John's head spun around and saw a group of boys who couldn't have been older than ten. They were all sniggering and pointing. John frowned. Whereas his default reaction when his sexuality was attacked would be to defend his heterosexuality, this time his first instinct was to defend Sherlock. It wasn't uncommon for John to react badly to people insulting Sherlock but now he felt downright livid. Which was stupid, they were just children, they didn't know any better, their parents were mostly likely to blame. Nevertheless, he opened his mouth to say something to them. He was stopped by Sherlock's hand cupping his face, drawing his attention back to gorgeous eyes and a cupid's bow smile.

"Ignore them, love," he said softly, "they don't know any better, do they? They're merely children, come on."

He let his lips delicately press to John's forehead before he pulled back and slid his arm around John's shoulders, coaxing him along as he started walking again. John was sure that his cheeks were bright red as he coiled his own arm around Sherlock's lithe waist. He rest against Sherlock slightly and sighed, smiling as a kiss was pressed to his temple.

"You were going to say something before," Sherlock prompted gently. John paused before shaking his head and smiling up at Sherlock brightly.

"Forget I said anything, delete it," he said and chuckled, "there's a DIY shop around that corner, we walked past it yesterday." 

* * *

 "You're going to _record_ _us while we sleep_!?"

"Yes, John, for the third time, yes I'm going to record us while we sleep," Sherlock said and rolled his eyes as he set up the little make shift stand he'd made out of the bits and bobs he'd bought from the DIY shop, setting his phone in it and smirking to himself as it sat perfectly angled towards the bed.

"Why though? You still haven't explained _why_ this is necessary," John said, sitting on the edge of the bed in his pyjamas.

"It might not be, it's merely something I need to do, call it a hunch, you did say that Gordon seemed agitated today, didn't you," Sherlock replied, sliding off his dressing gown and hanging it up.

"Well yeah...he just about snapped at me when I said hi, probably because you'd nearly barged past him as you ran inside to fix up your little recording station," John said sarcastically before he chuckled and shook his head.

"Well, I was...excited, like you when I agreed to win you more prizes from the arcade!"

John glanced over at the new teddy bear sitting on the sofa, Gladstone sitting on the floor beside the it.

"But look at them, they're so cute," the doctor cooed playfully. Sherlock chuckled.

"You won't be saying that when they take up half your room back at Baker Street," he said and John paused.

"I didn't think about that...maybe we could give one to Mrs Hudson," he said before flopping back on the bed as Sherlock started his phone recording.

"Don't worry, I won't show the recording to anyone, it will only be seen by us and then I'll delete it," Sherlock reassured him as he left the desk light on so the recording would be able to pick them up. John looked up at him and sighed.

"Fine," he mumbled and slid under the covers, sitting up and grabbing his book from the bedside table.

Sherlock slid in beside him and glanced over his shoulder, pressed close to his side, invading his space without realising it.

"You've read that four times, John, just look at the folded corners! Why are you reading it again, your memory isn't that bad that you'd need to refresh it so often with this fiction," he said.

"It's not about refreshing my memory, it's about...reliving the experience of reading it," John explained and chuckled, looking at Sherlock, "don't you reread books for the fun of it?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow.

"Well of course not, I reread them if I'm extremely bored and there's absolutely nothing else to do," he replied.

John smiled and shook his head slightly, ruffling Sherlock's curls, causing the detective to laugh and nudge John away.

"Thank you for that," Sherlock said sarcastically, his eyes alight with fondness.

"You're welcome, Sherlock, now let me read in peace," he said. Sherlock lay down with his head on his pillow, holding his phone above his head as he looked through the internet.

"What will you write on your blog about this case, thought of a ridiculous name for it yet," he asked after a few minutes of silence. John scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"My case titles are not ridiculous, everyone likes them," he retorted. Sherlock smirked and pushed his way closer until his head was resting in John's lap, grinning up at him.

"Yes, they are, but it seems that's what people want, ridiculous titles and over-sensational retellings of our cases," Sherlock said. John smiled slightly and looked down at Sherlock, pushing a hand into dark curls, this time just to feel the soft locks between his fingers.

" _Our_ cases?"

Sherlock hummed at the feeling and closed his eyes, allowing John to continue to stroke his hair.

"Yes, _our_ cases, I can hardly call them mine when you accompany me on most and help with them as well, there is no Holmes without Watson," Sherlock said, not really realising how sentimental that sounded. John felt butterflies start hounding the pit of his stomach and he couldn't keep the grin off his face. He was rather glad that Sherlock had his eyes closed.

"Thank you," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound as choked up as he thought it did. Sherlock merely smiled a little. John went back to reading, keeping one hand in Sherlock's dark curls, unable to stop running the locks between his fingers; an addiction he thought he could easily develop. 

* * *

 John reached over to glance at his phone and frowned as he realised he'd been reading for a good two and a half hours. Sherlock was still and silent but John could tell he wasn't sleeping and when he moved the detective did as well, sliding his head onto his pillow so that John could lean over and put his book down.

He turned off the bedside light, the little lamp on the desk where Sherlock's phone was still recording bathing the room in a soft glow that was oddly comforting rather than annoying. John stretched his arms above his head before sliding down onto his side, facing Sherlock.

The detective's bright eyes were open and John swore he could see galaxies in them, swirling vortexes of greens and blues. His breath caught in his throat slightly and he swallowed thickly, forcing himself to look away. Sherlock moved closer, taking John's arm and pulling it over himself, his face now cradled in the crook of his doctor's neck.

"Goodnight, John," he murmured.

John merely smiled, letting his hand smooth up and down the man's spine a few times before it settled and remained flat and firm.

"Night, Sherlock." 

* * *

 It was about four hours later that there was a slight scratching sound heard above the bed on the wall. Sherlock's hand moved up into John's hair to sooth the stirring man back to sleep as he listened. As silence settled again just as John did, Sherlock smirked.

_Gotcha_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Omg I keep leaving it months and months before updating and I'm soo sorry! But hey, I finish my second year of university at the end of April so maybe over summer I'll get my arse in gear and write more...maybe! XD


	9. The Fake Flowers

"I might not be as smart as you, Sherlock, but I can tell when you're lying," John said, raising an eyebrow as he crossed his arms over his chest. Sherlock looked back at him as he buttoned up his shirt.

"No you can't," he replied matter-of-factly. John faltered, making Sherlock smirk. He scoffed and grabbed his wallet from the bedside table.

"I can sometimes and this is one of those times," the doctor bit back as he pulled on his jacket, "you're hiding something, what was on that footage?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in exasperation.

"Nothing, I told you. I watched it while you were still asleep this morning, didn't find anything of interest, other than the fact that you sleep better and less restlessly when you have physical contact with someone, me in this scenario," Sherlock replied, ignoring the light flush he saw on John's cheeks and putting it down to the fact it was a rather hot morning, "so I deleted the recording. Simple. No need to be so suspicious."

John still didn't believe a word of it but when Sherlock was lying, he was committed to the ruse and rarely admitted truth.

"Fine, fine, so I'll meet you at that little café in about an hour, yeah?"

Sherlock merely nodded and John rolled his eyes.

"Be good, no trouble," he said before he left.

Sherlock glanced at the painting above the bed.

"No trouble," he repeated quietly.

* * *

 

John sighed softly as he sat outside on the terrace of the little café that he and Sherlock had discovered the day before. The view of the coast was marvellous from there. John sipped at his tea, having just devoured two cheese scones. His jacket was hanging over the back of the chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up and the first two buttons undone to get some air to his neck and chest. The day surely was turning out sunny and John was enjoying the heat.

It was only after an hour had gone by that something started coiling deep in John's gut. It had only intensified ten minutes later, and half an hour later it was starting to make his fist clench and unclench habitually.

 

**_You're late, where are you? - JW_ **

****

Now approaching an hour after they'd decided to meet, John shouldn't have been surprised by Sherlock's tardiness, really, he'd probably just have gotten so involved in his detecting and such that he'd just overlooked the time. John nodded to himself slightly and looked down at his phone, as if he could will Sherlock to send him a message and ease his knotted stomach. An hour and fifteen minutes late was the last straw and John stood up, about to grab his jacket when his phone beeped.

 

_The hotel, come now. Will explain later. - SH_

John tried to make it look like panic hadn't just struck through him but as he just about ripped his jacket from the back of the seat and tore out of the café, he attracted more than a few looks. Trying not to run, but still doing his best to get there in good time, John took a breath before going into the lobby, making himself walk normally. His eyes widened slightly at the sight he was met with.

"Sherlock! Are you...what are those?"

 

Sherlock smiled brightly when he saw John, noting how nice it was to see the man's lightly haired chest through the two open buttons on his shirt. John Watson also managed to have very alluring forearms, honestly, it shouldn't be possible to so attracted to someone's arms. The detective shook his head slightly to wipe those thoughts away before he moved towards the man, holding out the large bouquet wrapped in navy ribbon.

"Flowers, _obviously_ , John," he said and handed them to the man as he pressed a kiss to John's cheek, "we left on a rather...sour note this morning, I wanted to try and rectify that, my love, I'm sorry, honestly sometimes I don't know how you put up with me."

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, then down at the flowers. They really were beautiful, and certainly didn't look cheap either.

He suddenly chuckled and smiled, sliding his hand up to the back of Sherlock's neck. Without hesitation, he pulled the man down into a firm kiss, taking a step closer the instant that their lips met.

Sherlock seemed all too eager to return the contact and his arms coiled around the doctor's waist, lowering his head slightly to lessen the height difference.

Sherlock's lips parted under John's insistent tongue, letting the wet muscle inside.

_Hell, John could kiss well_.

 

John had no idea what he was doing. He was running on instinct, on hormones and desires. He'd just... _wanted_ to. So badly. So he had. Simple.

But now as he was pulling his head back, he felt nerves bubble inside of him again. They'd agreed on no kisses to the lips, Sherlock must have been able to tell that that wasn't faking, that John hadn't just done that for--

"Come on," Sherlock said, interrupting John's train of thought. He had the biggest grin on his face as he grabbed John's hand and dragged him towards the stairs, no patience for the lift.

John could feel his cheeks heating up and he swallowed thickly as he followed. Did Sherlock mean...? He felt...? Where they going to...? **_Finally!_**

John's lips stretched into a grin and as soon as their room door closed, he set the flowers on the desk carefully. Turning back to get another kiss, his was met with something much better. Sherlock was now sprawled out on the bed, his coat haphazardly thrown over the sofa.

"John," the detective breathed.

Never before had that one syllable sounded so erotic. John threw his jacket onto Sherlock's coat and swiftly joined him on the bed, sliding between those long legs and settling himself atop the man, groaning as their hips ground together.

"Sherlock, I---"

"You were amazingly convincing downstairs," Sherlock said before John could finish his sentence, "the kiss especially, I wasn't expecting it but it definitely made the moment more believable."

John frowned.

"What?"

Sherlock chuckled and licked his lips.

"You are an excellent kisser by the way, very...thorough, it's rather invigorating," he said, "he definitely bought it, I'm sure he'll be here any minute though, so we should--"

"You're got to be joking...This is all still for the...! You fucking arsehole!" John snapped angrily and stood up, glaring at Sherlock.

"Seriously? This is all still about the case to you? You made me think that...that we were going to...and you were faking it!? That kiss was just a-just a _game_ to you!?"

Sherlock sat up on his elbows.

"John, I said I'd explain later, you're not listening, he---"

"No! No, I'm not listening because you're fucking unbelievable!"

John stormed into the bathroom, pushing the door closed as he went to sit on the edge of the bath.

He sighed sharply as he rubbed at his eyes, tears biting at his eyes.

It had all been part of the case. The stupid bloody case. Sherlock had just been playing along, he hadn't felt what John had. Of course not.

This was Sherlock-bloody-Holmes, married to his work, sociopath.

Sherlock-bloody-Holmes who wasn't in love with his flatmate like his flatmate was with him.

"Stupid-stupid-stupid!" John muttered under his breath.

And now he was crying in the bathroom like a drunk teenage girl at a party. Decided he just needed to get out of there, he stood up and stormed out of the bathroom.

He was just in time to see the foot of the bed rising back up from where it had been angled down on hidden hinges by the headboard. The sheets, duvet and mattress had disappeared down a trapdoor; along with their occupant.

"Sherlock!"

Before John could react, the bed had clicked back into place and the doctor was left banging on the headboard, trying desperately to find some sort of latch or switch or seam. Anything that could drop the bed again. In all his panic, John didn't hear someone come up behind him.

By the time the tranquilising needle had pierced his neck, John was left limp to wait as his vision swam, blurred and then blackened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...who remembers this story, huh? 
> 
> Yes! I am still writing it! I feel so bad for leaving such long gaps between chapters but I'm going to try and pump out chapters more often now some real action is starting. I say that but don't hold me to it. I love you guys :) Enjoy!


	10. The Separation

The first thing John became aware of when he woke up was the pounding in his head. He winced as he realised he was lying face down on a cold stone floor. Taking a mental check to see if he had any pain, the doctor slowly hauled himself up into a sitting position. He looked around; noting the bare brick walls. It seemed he was in a basement.

"Fuck..." John murmured as he rubbed his neck, the puncture wound from the needle throbbing and probably bruised.

He instantly thought of Sherlock, wondering where the man was and whether he'd fared better than John had.

Now that his head had cleared slightly, John tried to take in his surroundings more thoroughly. It was the smell that caught his attention, something hanging thick in the air. It smelt a lot like what John suspected was staining the floor.

Blood.

Not his though, old blood that spelt out just what danger John might be in.  

A light-fixture in the ceiling was the only light source for the basement room and the brightness of bulb was hurting John's aching eyes. There was no furniture in the room and the only thing that broke up the four walls was a heavy looking door that was more than likely bolted from the other side.

John reached into his pockets but his phone and gun had been taken.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, think Watson, come on," John muttered to himself, wincing as he turned his head too quickly and felt a sting in his neck muscles. After a minute or two he calmed down enough to check himself over more thoroughly; adrenaline possibly masking any major injuries.

"Fuck!" he gasped as he smacked his head off the ceiling when standing up, having to hunch as he rubbed the back of his head.

So, vision was still slightly impaired, depth perception was definitely off.

Sighing heavily, he began examining the door, giving it a shove with his shoulder.

"Well then, it seems that one of the lovebirds is awake, try and settle down though, wouldn't want to cause a fuss, would you? It might make things worse."

The voice was unfamiliar to John, a female voice. Before he could even think of a response, a Polaroid picture slid under the door. Picking it up, dread crawled through John and seated itself deep into his stomach.

"Doesn't look very well, does he? That ankle looks painful, might even lose it if he leaves it too long, that would be a shame now, wouldn't it?" the female voice almost cooed through the door. Rage bubbled past the dread and John almost roared as he banged on the door.

"I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you! Don't touch him! Don't you dare!"

* * *

 

Sherlock's eyes opened slowly, most of his body aching. The fall hadn't been far but he'd landed on his left ankle if the searing pain was anything to go by. He looked down at himself. Broken then, if the bone that was sticking out through his flesh was anything to go by. Blood had already soaked his sock and the bottom of his trouser leg; which had been rolled up by someone.

Sherlock knew to move it wouldn't do much good and so he stayed still, trying to learn what he could. He could tell by the wall colours and the ceiling plaster pattern that he was in one of the hotel rooms. It had been stripped of its furniture and there was no carpet, only the bare floorboards. However, the walls were evidently sound proofed, quite professionally as well.

Despite his pain, his thoughts were with John, almost sure the man would have been taken as well.

If only he'd listened, why hadn't John just listened?

"It seems you were having a bit of a lovers tiff, weren't you, hm?"

Sherlock looked up as he heard the voice, watching the male walking out of the bathroom, evidently having just cleaned his hands.

"Something about a case and faking it," Gordon said as he walked calmly over to Sherlock, looking down at him, "I thought the name was familiar when you arrived and so I did some research on you, a 'consulting detective' and his 'partner' in our humble hotel."

Sherlock watched the man carefully. Gordon's demeanour was drastically different, now eerily calm and collected.

"I thought I'd hit the jackpot really, such a well known, public eye couple, and you were all mine," Gordon cooed and chuckled to himself, moving over to the window, looking out of the curtains for a moment.

"Pursuing us was foolish, surely you must have seen that. We were faking our relationship, we were here investigating you, you must have seen our past record for solved crimes. You're not that much of an idiot, why not simply go to ground?" Sherlock asked.

Gordon smiled and turned back to the detective, putting on a pair of rubber gloves and sliding a meat cleaver out from under one of the floorboards.

"Because it was my research of you that made me see that simply 'going to ground' wouldn't work," he replied, running his finger gently over the large blade, "and I was tempted. I'll admit, you were too much to pass up, so in love, so lustful, so passionate-"

"Faking it, all of it, I just told you that," Sherlock interjected, frowning when Gordon threw his head back and laughed.

"Oh Mr Holmes, I'll be quite disappointed if you believe that. I've faked my own feelings for years, something your little John Watson and I seem to have in common."

Shaking his head, Sherlock swallowed thickly, bile rising in his throat.

" _Now is not the time, not the time for this, shut up shut up shut up,"_ he thought to himself, pushing back emotion and drawing out the sociopathic nature he'd previously convinced himself was all he had.

"Where is he? Obviously you've kept us apart to heighten emotional distress, insight panic, decay logic. If you intended to kill us, you'd have had ample opportunity while I was unconscious. You took photos of me, to send to John no doubt, thus he must be in a fit enough state to react to them. Where is he? And why are you holding us? Sick pleasure and psychopathic fantasy doesn't quite mould to you, jealousy is motive for the killings but not for the extended torture," Sherlock rattled off, keeping his eyes on the other man.

Gordon knelt down by him and stroked the flat edge of the knife across Sherlock's face, the cool metal sticking to the pale, clammy flesh.

"Now now, Mr Holmes, let's not spoil the surprise, hm?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh god I know this has taken forever, I'm a terrible person I know! So many things have gotten in the way of writing this, including my own procrastination and laziness. Please forgive me! Have some angst! Yay for angst! Also, I know it's really short, but I hope it's satisfying anyway? Don't hate me xx


	11. The Medic Captain

John had shouted until he was hoarse, banging on the door until his hands were scraped red and sore. Eventually he'd slumped down against the wall, leaning his head back against the stone and that is where he'd sat for about half an hour.

_Think, Watson! Think!_

Sherlock needed him, Sherlock was in danger, was hurt, yet John's mind wasn't supplying him with anything helpful. Nausea was starting to curdle his stomach and a few times he had to lean over to dry heave. The picture that had been slipped under the door lay by his side, ignored.

Closing his eyes, John sighed heavily. Everything was so quiet. The basement walls were thick obviously, and he couldn't hear anything, not even the seagulls or the tourists above. The silence grated on John, hindered his thinking if anything, made it impossible to do anything other than concentrate on the beating of his own heart, no matter how hard he tried not to listen.

Listen. Listen!

"Shit!"

Sherlock had told him to listen, before he'd stormed into the bathroom, before Sherlock had fallen through that bloody trapdoor. Sherlock had almost begged him to listen, had warned him that someone, no, that _he_ was coming. Maybe if he'd listened, this wouldn't have happened, maybe they'd have had time to prepare themselves, maybe Sherlock wouldn't have been on that damn bed. Scrubbing a hand over his face, John swore under his breath.

"He...but that wasn't who..." John muttered to himself, trailing off as he opened his eyes again.

Before he could finish that train of thought, another Polaroid photo was slid under the door. His stomach churned violently before he'd even looked at the thing. Hand shaking as he picked it up, John took a breath before looked down at it. It was a picture of Sherlock's chest, marred by thick black bruises with yellowish hues.

"Why are you doing this?" he managed to growl out. Scrunching the photo up in his hand, he threw it across the room.

"Why are you doing this!?" he shouted. No one answered.

"You're a fucking coward! Doing this to me, to us, just hurting someone who can't fight back. You're sick," John continued to shout, "what kind of man hides behind a door and a camera?"

The doctor heard someone chuckle, just a small noise from the other side of the door. It made his blood boil.

"The kind of man who isn't a man at all, silly," the voice cooed.

About to open his mouth and shout again, John paused, his brain suddenly flashing an idea into his head. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Oh that just explains it all, doesn't it? A _woman_ ," John spat, rolling his eyes, "a weak little woman who hides behind doors to taunt her betters, taunt her _superiors_."

Silence behind the door was deafening but John could tell she hadn't left, could almost hear her anger bubbling.

"What's wrong? Your instincts kicked in yet? Realised that doing this won't change how weak you are? Pathetic woman!"

Hearing the key in the door and a bolt sliding back made every muscle in John tense. He remained sitting as the door swung open.

"Oh would you look at that, a _maid_ , a female _slave_ , hm? Serving her betters like she should be," John sneered, smirking.

He recognised her, had seen her around the hotel, cleaning or pushing a trolley. She'd smiled at him, hidden behind niceties and politeness.

"You have no idea who you're messing with," the woman spat, staying in the doorway and glaring down at John.

"Oh come on, is that supposed to scare me? So who's the master then? Who's the real one behind all this, because it's definitely not going to be _you_ ," John scoffed, looking up at her with a patronising smirk.

It all happened fast after that.

She reached into her pocket and John's body snapped. He sprung up and launched at her, grabbing her arms and tackling her to the ground, pinning her hands above her head before punching her in the face.

He should feel bad, hitting a woman, but she wasn't a woman to him now, she was the person hurting Sherlock, the person keeping him from Sherlock.

"Where is he?" John growled, running on adrenaline, punching her again and again.

"Tell me! Tell me, bitch! Where is he!?"

The woman sputtered, blood painting her face with John's fist as the brush. Her voice was crackling, blood choking her as she tried to speak.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock panted harshly, his chest burning as he wheezed.

"Oh look at you, you're stronger than this, no more smart remarks, hm?" Gordon cooed, nudging the man's cheek with his boot.

Sherlock grunted slightly, coughing when air caught in his lungs. His muscles burnt and his body was so filled with pain that he almost couldn't register it anymore.

"John will come," he managed to choke out, "John will come."

Gordon laughed and shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"Such faith you have in your little toy, John is otherwise engaged, he won't be coming anytime soon, but don't worry, I'm here to keep you company!"

Sherlock shook his head, or rather managed to twitch it from side to side to emulate the gesture.

"He will...he will," Sherlock murmured. His faith in John was the strongest thing he had, it surpassed his intelligence, surpassed even his self-assurance of his own knowledge.

John was the one constant in his life that never failed.

Gordon sighed and smiled, nudging the man again, this time scraping his boot over the bruises on Sherlock's chest.

"My lovely assistant is keeping him nice and busy," he said before there was a knock at the door, two swift and then two slower knocks.

"Ah! There she is now! Probably come to collect another lovely photo of you for your dear John!" Gordon said, excitement clear in his voice.

He moved over to the door and unbolted and unchained it. Sherlock remained unmoved until he heard the crash of a body slamming to the floor, the sound letting him now that the body that fell was unconscious.

"Sherlock!" John gasped, dashing over and kneeling in front of the man, quickly taking off his jacket and covering Sherlock's torso and groin.

"Oh god, Sherlock, talk to me, come on, talk to me," he babbled, his eyes already trained on Sherlock's leg, assessing the broken bone.

"John, John, I knew, I knew you'd come," Sherlock rasped, forcing a smile. John let out a strained chuckle and he nodded, stroking a hand through Sherlock's curls gently.

"Always, Sherlock, you know I'm always behind you, just takes me awhile to catch up, shorter legs," he joked, trying to keep tears from flooding his vision.

Sherlock's smile widened and he let his eyes close.

"An ambulance is on its way, Sherlock, okay? Just hold on, I've called Greg too, he's getting the police down here and he's coming himself as well, you'll be fine, hear me?" John said hurriedly, noting Sherlock close his eyes.

Sherlock's mind was fuzzy, his body finally relaxing now that he knew John was there.

John meant safety.

Safety so that his mind palace could go dark and he could slip into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Omg this has taken me so long and I know I'm a piece of shit but I have a very good reason (excuse) as to why I'm a piece of shit. I'm in my last year at university at the minute so my workload is through the roof; and that's without the massive dissertation I have to write too ¬_¬ So yeah, this is shorter than I wanted it to be but thank you all so much for being patient <3


	12. The Closing Curtain

_Too bright._

That’s what Sherlock thought when his eyes finally cracked open. Everything was far too bright in hospital.

Hospital, that’s where he was. White wash walls and the smell of bleach made waking up worse and Sherlock wanted to turn over and pull the covers over his head.

“It’s alright, Sherlock, just stay still.”

John. That was John’s voice. Even through the thick fog permeating his mind, Sherlock knew that voice.

John stroked his hand over Sherlock’s arm and watched as the detective’s eyes focussed on him.

“Don’t try to speak, you’re in hospital, you’ve had surgery on your ankle and you’ve got badly bruised ribs,” he explained.

John had bandages and dressings on his knuckles, the joints swollen. Guilt curled in his stomach whenever he looked at them. Base instincts had blinded him into action to find Sherlock, but now his morals were deep-seated again and he couldn’t help his remorse. Remorse, for beating a murderer, or at least an accessory to murder.

Pushing away those thoughts, John gave Sherlock a soft smile.

“Greg’s here, you’ve been asleep for a day and a half now,” he added, “he’s overseeing everything, which has royally pissed off the D.I. here.”

Sherlock smiled, almost chuckling before he realised how much that made his aching chest hurt. John squeezed Sherlock’s hand and laced their fingers together.

“Shh, go back to sleep, Sherlock, I’ll stay right here,” he said.

 

* * *

 

“Sherlock, come on, I know it tastes awful but you need to eat,” John said for what felt like the hundredth time.

Sherlock grimaced as he took a mouthful of what was supposed to be a jacket potato but looked more like a rock and tasted like dirt.

“You’re a doctor, John, why couldn’t you have gotten me something more appetising than _this_?” he asked with disdain. John smiled slightly.

“Sorry, I forgot my official Doctor’s lunch pass, otherwise I’d have gotten you a full roast with all the trimmings,” he replied. Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes.

“The sarcasm isn’t necessary,” he snapped, “as if I could have finished an entire roast myself.”

John covered his chuckle with his hand before he gestured for Sherlock to continue eating, which he did to his credit. A knock at the door drew John’s attention and he smiled as Greg moved inside.

“Afternoon all, how’s the patient?”

Sherlock sighed and put down his fork.

“More than ready to go home, I don’t know why I haven’t been discharged, or at least transferred to London,” he told Greg, who sat down in a chair beside John.

“You’ve only been here three days, Sherlock, including the day and a half you were out of it, we’ve been a little busier sorting out the bastard that put you here,” Greg said, giving John a tight smile when the doctor tensed at the mention of Gordon.

Sherlock’s hand found its way to John’s and his long fingers locked around John’s, his eyes remaining on Greg.

“He confessed?”

Greg nodded.

“To everything, the past disappearances, everything,” he said, “he almost seemed…pleased to be caught.”

Sherlock hummed and stroked his thumb over the bandages on John’s knuckles.

“Maybe he got some sense beaten into him,” he murmured. Greg chuckled and shrugged.

“Maybe, looks like he got thrown down by a bus, the amount of bruises on his back, how hard did you tackle the fucker, John?”

John cleared his throat and forced a little shrug.

“As hard as I had too.”

Greg nodded slightly before clearing his throat.

“We had to wait a bit before we could interview that maid who was involved,” he said carefully, looking at John, “she’s still on a feeding tube.”

John remained silent, looking down at the hand that was being held by Sherlock’s. Sherlock shot a glare at Greg for speaking about something John so obviously didn’t want to be confronted about.

“A necessity that couldn’t be avoided, we were kidnapped and under high mental stress, she’s merely lucky that John had been disarmed before escaping,” Sherlock said, in a tone that said that was the end of discussion. Greg raised his hands slightly in surrender before standing.

“I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll see what I can do about getting you both back to London,” he said. He patted John’s shoulder before he left. There was a silence left behind, and John still hadn’t looked up.

“John,” Sherlock said, his voice quiet and gentle, “look at me.”

It took a moment, but John’s eyes left their hands and reached Sherlock’s face. He sighed heavily and nodded.

“It’s stupid, I’m a soldier, was a soldier, I _shot_ someone to save you,” he said, his voice strained, “I don’t know why I’m getting so hung up on this.”

“Because it was a woman? Because it was essentially brawling? Your knuckles are bandaged, John, it was obviously a violent, aggressive…thing,” Sherlock replied, choosing his words carefully, not wanting to cause more distress. John shrugged helplessly before he just gave a tight smile.

“You were right though, if I’d had my gun…”

Sherlock shook his head and stroked John’s knuckles again.

“It’s in the past, John, it’s over. Now, I’m going to need more convincing to finish this disgusting hospital food,” he said, causing John to chuckle and shake his head.

 

* * *

 

“John! My pillow fell!”

John sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face as he placed another clean plate back in the cupboard. Hanging the tea towel around his neck, he went through to the living room, standing by the sofa with his arms crossed.

Sherlock looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the pillow that had slipped out from underneath the cast on his ankle which was resting on the coffee table.

“This is the fourth time you’ve knocked it off the coffee table in the past half an hour,” John said, shaking his head.

Leaning down, he propped Sherlock’s ankle up again, making sure the pillow was supporting him. Just as he was going to head back to the kitchen, Sherlock cleared his throat.

“John, I need something else,” he said.

John raised an eyebrow and came to stand by the arm of the sofa when beckoned. Sherlock reached up and grabbed both ends of the tea towel around John’s neck, bringing him over until the detective could press his lips to John’s. John was stunned for a moment, but melted into the kiss, his lips moving against Sherlock’s.

“Thank you,” Sherlock murmured as he pulled back, smiling up at John before returning his attention to the laptop on his knee.

John went back to the kitchen, a huge grin on his face, the promise of more tingling on his lips.

Perhaps that’s all they needed, after everything that had happened, to rush anything could ruin it.

Go slow, start small.

A chance, that’s all they needed. A chance that everything had been more than faking it…maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : So....it's been almost a year since I updated this. I wish I had an excuse, but I don't. There's one more chapter to go, more just like a little bonus thing. It'll be smutty, very NSFW, no plot to it, just porn. My way of saying sorry? It'll be up soon, just thought I'd add this chapter now so you wouldn't think I'd totally forgotten about this fic! Anyway, enjoy! ^_^ xx


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